


Lethal fucking Weapon has a lot to answer for!

by millygal



Series: HC_BINGO [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: High Octane Fun, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Petrol Head Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 22:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11262621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Who's damned idea was it to try and hunt a possessed Chevy Truck?!





	Lethal fucking Weapon has a lot to answer for!

**Author's Note:**

> First of my hc_bingo prompt fills. I rather thought this was PERFECT for me, what with me having a serious petrol head obsession. (just so we're clear, I love Lethal Weapon) ;) Enjoy. Thank you to jj1564, the heat is frying my brain because the amount of grammatical editing my poor POOR beta had to do for this wasn't even funny. I'm not usually THAT bad, lol. Thanks honey ♥

The screeching and juddering from Baby’s overstretched pistons comes rocketing up through her engine bay, beating a teeth rattling rhythm into Sam’s right foot, which is pressed so tight to the floor, he fears he may kick a hole in her base panel, but there’s no fucking way he’s letting off the gas right now. “DEAN!”

The Impala’s not got much left in her; one more gear shift and she’s toast, she’ll end up spitting nuts and bolts all over the highway, but Sam won’t give up until they’re a pile of twisted metal and bone on the side of the road. “DEAN! Look at ME!”

Dean hangs limply from the front grille of the possessed Chevy C10 careening across both lanes; Sam’s so fucking afraid his brother will fall to his death and be flattened beneath burned rubber, before he can get close enough to catch him. “Please. PLEASE! DEAN LOOK AT ME! Don’t let GO!”

Dean’s heels are scuffing dangerously against the blacktop and his eyes are rolling in his skull, but he can just about hear Sam’s voice pleading with him to hang on to the front of the truck. His arms feel like lead and his stomach is rolling over, threatening to bring up the cheeseburger and fries he inhaled for lunch, but Dean knows if he lets go he’ll be mangled beyond recognition.

He’s already ripped three fingernails from their beds and the blood is oozing across his hand making it almost impossible to keep a grip of the rusty chrome beneath his fingers, but Dean pulls his shoulders up as best he can and curls around the front of the truck, using the bumper to try and rest his boots on.

The tread on his boots is all but gone, scraped away by practically running at eighty miles an hour whilst clinging on for dear life, and he’s having trouble keeping his legs off the road. “Sammy - I can’t hold on much longer!”

Sam doesn’t know what else to do other than keep his foot on the gas and pray a solution presents itself. One hand on the wheel, he scans the inside of the Impala for _anything_ he can use to try and catch Dean if he falls. The hood of the Impala is too high for him to slot beneath Dean and tell him to jump, so there has to be another way.

Still just about managing to steer without throwing her off the road and avoiding being shunted into the dirt by the truck that is swerving wildly, Sam blindly digs around in the back of the Impala. His fingers fall on the crappy blanket Dean uses to lay under the car when he’s fiddling with her engine and a light bulb goes off in his head.

Thank heavens for Dean’s shitty taste in films.

Pulling the blanket into his lap, Sam shouts out of the open window. “Dean - _Lethal Weapon_ , the plastic sheet.”

Clinging to the front of a possessed truck and hoping not to become roadkill does nothing for Dean’s cognitive abilities, but he can vaguely picture what Sam’s thinking and he’s not sure if he should just take his chances where he is. “ARE YOU INSANE?!”

“ **BETTER IDEAS**?”

Dean hisses as the truck slides left, almost throwing him off the front, and realises it’s now or never. “Fine, just hurry the fuck up. I’m about to look like I got run over in 'Toon Town.”

Sam risks another gear shift, forcing more speed from the Impala’s redlining engine and manages to gain the length of the hood on the speeding truck. Flinging the blanket from the open window, trying not to get it wrapped around the truck’s left front wheel, Sam shouts at Dean. “You need to grab it and roll when I flick it up.”

Dean’s shoulders are facing Sam and the blanket and he needs to try to twist and shift himself round, which could end in disaster before he’s even attempted the Evel Knievel bullshit his brother seems to think is such a good idea. “I gotta move round or I’ll never catch it; pull the blanket back in.”

Sam watches, heart in his throat, as Dean twists and shifts and shunts himself until he’s doing a fine impression of Superman, flying horizontal against the grille of the the truck, and it’s then Sam notices what Dean’s clearly just figured out. “Your belt, lose the belt, it’s hooked to the bumper.”

Dean can feel the waistband of his jeans tightening against his stomach as the belt yanks against him and he nearly snaps his wrist trying to work his fingers down behind the bumper. “I can’t get it free, Sammy, I’m fuckin’ stuck!”

“Undo the damned belt!”

“Oh, right!”

Finally, Dean manages to free himself from the belt, one set of fingers still desperately clinging to the now blood and sweat soaked chrome on the grille, and he can feel himself slipping. The road is rushing past his face so fast he’s afraid he’s going to be tasting tarmac before Sam can get him clear.

As it is, he’s going to end up with a road rash worthy of a biker without leathers and a poor sense of balance. “Now, NOW!”

Sam flicks the blanket back out the window and aims for Dean’s outstretched hand.

He misses.

Twice.

Finally Dean manages to get a loose grip on the blanket and work his fingers into the material. Taking a deep breath, looking Sam in the eye and nodding, Dean braces for impact.”GO!”

Sam guns the engine and swings the car hard left, blanket still gripped tight in his outstretched hand, as Dean lets go of the truck and begs whoever might be listening not to flatten him beneath its wheels.

Dean flies through the air for a brief moment before gravity and the possessed truck takeover.

He’s almost clear of the front of the truck but everything seems to be running in slow motion and he sees the front quarter panel getting closer to his flailing legs. The truck makes contact with his right leg, snapping it backwards, shattering his kneecap and forcing bone through flesh. “FUCK!”

The Impala’s in the dirt on two wheels but Sam won’t let go of the blanket and can’t take his eyes off his brother who’s now being dragged on his back, removing flesh and sinew, leaving parts of himself along the side of the road.

Sam slams on the brakes and and the Impala shudders to a halt, throwing up dust and loose rocks.

Dean’s head slams into the Impala’s right front wheel and his body crumples in on itself.

Sam’s throws the car door open, just missing crushing Dean’s nose, and slams into the ground next to him. “Dean, DEAN! Look at me!”

The possessed truck continues to speed along the road until it hooks itself into a hard turn so it’s facing the two men; one laying still and quiet, the other frantically checking for a pulse.

Revving it’s engine, the truck practically jumps on the spot, and Sam’s head snaps up just as the wheels spin and let loose a plume of smoke that swallows it whole, making it impossible to see.

“Dean, DEAN COME ON, we gotta move!”

Dean’s eyes finally open and he groans as he tries to grip his leg above his decimated kneecap, only for his fingers to come into contact with a shard of bone poking straight through his jeans. “Crap, Sa-Sammy, am I dead?!”

Sam slides his arms around Dean’s shoulders and pulls as hard as he can. “No, but we’ll both be fucked if we don’t shift. The truck isn’t finished with you.”

Dean can hear an almighty roar as the truck continues to rev it’s engine, building up a head of steam, ready to try and run them down. “Fuck, I can’t move my leg, I can’t - “

Sam manages to haul Dean into a sitting position before slipping his arms beneath his brother’s body. “I got you, just, hang on.”

Dean curls his arms around Sam’s neck and tries not to cry out as he’s bodily lifted from the ground. The agony in his leg is pushing white spots into the edges of his vision and he thinks he might pass out, but if he does he’ll be dead weight and Sam won’t make it. “Sammy, the grenade launcher - you gotta - “

“On it.”

Sam runs behind the Impala and lowers Dean gently to the ground, trying not to jostle his leg. “Hold onto your ass.”

Sam pops the trunk and yanks the grenade launcher from inside then hears a mewling sound coming from Dean. Turning his head he’s surprised to see a look of disappointment on his brother’s face and rolls his eyes. “Really?! Now? We’ve got maybe thirty seconds before that thing’s too close to use this, and you want to be the one to fire it?”

Dean tries not to pout but he’s been dying to unload that damned thing since they got it. “I - well - maybe…”

“Fine!” Sam leans the launcher against the back bumper of the car and steps behind Dean before bending down, slipping his hands in his brother’s armpits and hauling him to his feet. “Hurry it up!”

“FUCK that hurts.” Dean allows Sam to take the majority of his weight and leans back into his solid chest after snatching up the grenade launcher.

The truck’s done waiting, almost like it can sense it’s end coming, and is speeding down the road, getting closer by the second.

Sam holds onto Dean’s waist and shouts in his ear. “Now, Dean, NOW!”

Dean slams the launcher onto his shoulder, narrowly missing breaking Sam’s jaw with it, and uses Sam’s extra height to steady the weapon before taking aim. “Yippee-Kayee-MotherTrucker!”

The recoil almost lands Sam and Dean in the dirt; it’s only Sam’s body leaning forward into the blast and Dean’s back that stops them toppling over. It’s mere moments before the truck that was so intent on ending Dean’s life is blown to pieces forty feet from the brothers,  who are both whooping and hollering.

The remaining gas in the truck’s engine causes a fireworks display worthy of Independence Day, and the blast is so loud Sam can’t hear past the ringing in his ears but he can quite clearly feel Dean bouncing around in his arms. “Dude, ease up will you? You’re not light as a feather.”

The adrenaline coursing Dean’s system all of a sudden drops away and he’s left feeling weak and nauseous as Sam stops him from falling on his ass.

Sam grips Dean tightly and lowers them both into the dirt, so that Dean’s head is resting against Sam’s shoulder where the launcher was sitting, and his back is pressed flush against his brother’s chest.

“Sammy, I think I might pass out now, okay?”

Sam feels Dean slump in his lap and rests a hand against his forehead to stop his chin hitting his chest.

Fingers lightly stroking Dean’s dirt and blood coated skin, Sam rests his lips at Dean’s ear and whispers. “Okay, Dean, I got you.”

Sam looks down at Dean’s trashed leg and thinks perhaps he best try and stem the blood that’s still flowing slowly from the wound, but he’s loathe to relinquish his grip on his brother, who could quite easily have become a bloody lump on the side of the road.

Sliding from beneath Dean who’s out cold, Sam lays him gently on the ground before pulling off his overshirt and ripping three long strips out of the material. Wrapping them snugly around Dean’s leg, making sure not to tie them too tight, Sam forces back the urge to vomit when his fingers come into contact with the shard of bone still protruding from his leg. “Fuck, that’s gonna hurt. Let’s get you to a hospital, shall we?”

Turning and pulling the car door open, Sam shakes his head at the thought of the weeks of grumping and grouching Dean’s going to do when he realises he won’t be able to Hunt, or drive, or even stand properly. “You’re gonna be a fucking nightmare, aren’t you?”

Crouching down next to Dean, Sam slips his arms beneath him and lifts him into the air before carefully laying him on the back seat of the Impala. As his ruined back and shoulders come into contact with cool leather, Dean stirs and swears. “Holy fuck!” Then he murmurs ”Sam, I hurt all over. Next time we decide to hunt a possessed vehicle, you get to play hood ornament, ‘kay?”

Dean passes back out and Sam slips into the Impala’s driver’s seat. “Sure thing Dean, sure thing. Might need a bigger truck though.”

 

Fin


End file.
